


They're Contacts, right?

by ringdingdongenthusiast (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blindness, Crumpet the dog, M/M, blind!Arthur, hero!America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:42:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ringdingdongenthusiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of Arthur's life, he'd wandered around without knowing what black or white or light or dark looked like. In fact, he didn't even know what red looked like. Or blue. Or green, or purple, or any other colour that could be named.</p><p>Arthur was blind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Contacts, right?

**Author's Note:**

> All the characters mentioned in this belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. I wish they were mine, I really do, but sadly, they are not.

 

Darkness was something that he'd never questioned. Arthur had never seen the light, and so he welcomed the black abyss. He didn't even know what light looked like. Maybe what he thought was 'dark' was actually 'light'. After all, he'd only ever been told what 'light' and 'dark' were. He'd never experienced the difference.

All of Arthur's life, he'd wandered around without knowing what black or white or light or dark looked like. In fact, he didn't even know what red looked like. Or blue. Or green, or purple, or any other colour that could be named.

Arthur was blind.

He'd been blind since birth. Arthur was a premature baby, you see, and had a disease called _retinopathy of prematurity,_ or ROP, that all premature babies are at risk of contracting. He'd been one of the unlucky ones, the fact that he was so underweight causing him to be more vulnerable.

But he'd learnt to live with it. Being blind didn't stop him from enjoying life. He worked around his impairment, and was actually a rather successful counsellor in Kensington, London. Arthur's guide dog, Crumpet (a name that didn't quite fit her appearance), had been a great deal of help to him throughout his life, of course.

His brothers were exactly the opposite of dear Crumpet, never caring so much as to even drop in on him to see how he was doing, but Arthur considered himself extremely lucky to have found a great friend in Francis Bonnefoy, a much sought-after lawyer who hailed from France. Of course, he'd never tell the Frenchman how much he was appreciated. They lived together, in a two bedroom flat (which doubled as his studio so he didn't have to leave for work), overlooking Kensington Gardens, not that Arthur could see them. He'd been told they were very beautiful, though.

Arthur's life had always been slow and everyday was practically the same. In the morning, he got up at around seven-thirty, before Francis went to work, and his flatmate made breakfast for the both of them before he left. After this, Arthur would take Crumpet for a walk and return with lunch which he would eat before starting on his knitting, and occasionally, crocheting or embroidery. Mid-afternoon was usually the time when he had appointments with his clients, but if he had none, he would make tea for himself and just sit outside in the fresh air, sipping tea with Crumpet at his side. Francis would return at around four in the afternoon, and Arthur spent the rest of his day with him.

It was on a day that Francis was out of town, researching for a big case of his in Brighton, when Arthur's very structured, carefully planned out life changed. On this day, Arthur met a man who changed his life completely. It was on this sunny day that Arthur was walking his loyal companion Crumpet... when he heard a dog bark.

Now, let it be known that usually, this wouldn't have fazed Arthur one bit. He thought of himself as a very dog-friendly kind of person, after all. It wasn't really the bark that was the problem, anyway. The _real_ problem happened after the dog barked.

Crumpet started running.

Arthur was caught so off guard by her sudden quickening of pace that he dropped her leash, and she got away from him. He froze on the spot, gulping in fear, not knowing what to do. He couldn't see, his ears were roaring with the mix of adrenalin and the rush of cars speeding by, and he didn't have his guide dog with him.

"C-crumpet?" he called out fearfully, looking from side to side uselessly, for without his sight, was it even worth doing? He tried again, this time louder and more insistent. "Crumpet!" Arthur waited a moment, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He couldn't hear the jingling of her dog tags, nor could he feel her brushing up against his leg. She was gone. Truly gone. What on Earth was he supposed to do?

Biting his lip to try and hold back a sob that was threatening to come forth ( _'Stiff upper lip, Arthur'_ his father would have said), Arthur wiped his eyes and began walking in the direction that he believed his dog had gone. He inched forward, arms out in front of him to make sure nothing was there.

He heard a loud crash, only metres away from him, and his unseeing eyes widened in fear. He could hear the screeching of tires, and the smash of glass against asphalt. What... what was happening?

Suddenly, out of nowhere, two arms grabbed him about the waist and lifted him backwards forcefully, quickly. Arthur struggled profusely, protesting loudly, thinking that this person was about to mug him, or worse. No one came to help though. Not a single person. _What is the world coming to?_ Arthur wondered, idly, still putting up a fight.

"Hey, calm down man!" an obnoxious American man's voice said, as the strong arms around him tightened so that he could barely move anything, bar his head and arms, which were still free. Of course, the man only succeeded in causing Arthur to struggle even more. "Is that any way to treat your hero?"

Arthur halted his struggle for freedom, a frown marring his face. _Hero? Hero? What the bloody hell is he on about?_

Apparently, he'd said as much out loud, and the man was _considerate_ enough to _grace_ him a reply. "Dude, did you not just see how I awesomely saved you?"

Raising an eyebrow in contempt, Arthur was just about to snap something along the lines of _'no, if the bloody guide dog didn't give the fact that I'm blind away, then this stupid white cane should!'_ when he remembered that, well, he actually didn't _have_ either of the international symbols of blindness on him at the moment. So instead, he opted to calmly demand for the man to put him down so he could turn and at least face the him, even if he couldn't see him.

The man did as he was asked (rather, told), and Arthur quickly realised that he was a good deal shorter than his apparent 'saviour', at least ten centimetres, by the amount of space between his previously hanging legs and the ground.

Composing himself, he adjusted his head to look at where he thought the American's was. "I apologise, but I must have spaced out. I suppose a 'thank you' is deserved," he said as politely as he could but in all honestly, the only thing he wanted to do was to get into this bloke about manhandling people.

"Why're you lookin' at my chest, man? It's weird."

Arthur spluttered, a blush taking over his cheeks in complete embarrassment as he directed his gaze up more, cursing himself for his idiocy. He should have just walked away. Did the world hate him? So far, everything about this day had gone wrong. It went to show that he really couldn't function properly without Francis, not that he'd ever tell the man.

It would appear that the world did indeed hate him, for the man went on to say something that had Arthur feeling even more humiliated, if that were possible. "Whoa, what the hell's wrong with your eyes? That's freaky... they're all... milky, and white."

Arthur scowled to hide his hurt at the American's words. He hated it when people talked like that about him. It wasn't his fault that his eyes looked strange, honestly! Maybe... maybe he really should wear glasses to cover his eyes.

He bit his lip again, trying to stay strong. This American had probably never encountered a blind person, after all, so he would cut him some slack. "I - yes... I'm sorry you had to see that," he muttered bitterly.

"They're contacts, right?" the strange man asked him, sounding... excited? That was... peculiar, to say the least. Perhaps this man was different to the others.

"No, they're not," he answered patiently. This man would figure it out soon and be on his way, there was no use getting annoyed at him, Arthur told himself.

The American hadn't said anything for a while and Arthur was beginning to think that he'd left. He was proved wrong when the man muttered, so softly that Arthur could hardly hear him amongst the city traffic, almost guiltily, "Are you... blind?"

Finally! "Yes," he responded, a bit snappish. "Problem?"

"No, no, I just... well, I've never seen a blind person and well, don't they usually have canes or dogs?"

Arthur's eyes widened. He'd almost forgotten. "Crumpet!"

"Crumpa-what now?"

"Crumpet," Arthur repeated, his anxiety back tenfold, "my guide dog. She ran away and I... I don't know where she is." He fidgeted about on the spot, worrying his lip again to the point that it was almost bleeding. What if she'd been hurt? One of the cars wouldn't have run over her, right?

"Hey," that obnoxious voice came, except it wasn't so obnoxious anymore. It was... comforting. "We'll find your doggie for you, kay? I'll help."

Now that was something that Arthur honestly did not expect. He'd thought maybe the man would laugh and then walk away, with a "good luck", but no. He was going to help. "Thank you," Arthur replied, earnestly; he needed crumpet, after all, for what could he do without her? And then he remembered something. "Oh gosh, I'm so rude. My name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland." He stuck out his hand quickly, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Er, right. I'm Alfred F. Jones, hero extraordinaire and here to save the day!"

Arthur imagined he was doing some childish hero pose, maybe with and one arm in the air, as if he were about to take off and fly, and the other on his hip. At the mental imagine, he let out a soft chuckle. Maybe this American wasn't as bad as he seemed.

Yes. Alfred F. Jones, self-proclaimed hero, was the man that changed Arthur's perfectly ordinary life and made it worth every struggle that he had ever been through.

 


End file.
